For the King of Carthage said,
When he saw the fair young maid:
“Daughter!” and the maid replied:
“Father!” And they laughed and cried.
For she had been stolen when
She was young by Christian men.
And the captain of Beaucaire
Bought her as a slave-girl there.
Once her lover loved her well
Now, alas! he cannot tell
Who she is. Does he forget—
Aucassin—his Nicolette?
Aucassin leaped down the castle steps, and took his lady in his arms. Then she went to the house of her godfather, the captain of the town, and washed all the brownness from her face, and clad herself in robes of rich silk. And, early on the morrow, Count Aucassin wedded her, and made her Lady of Beaucaire; and they had great joy of one another. And here my song-story ends. I know no more.
* * * * *
BERTHOLD AUERBACH
On the Height
Berthold Auerbach, a German poet and author of Jewish descent, was born at Nordstetten, in Wuertemberg, on February 28, 1812. On the completion of his studies at the universities of Tuebingen, Munich and Heidelberg he immediately devoted himself to literature. His first publication dealt with “Judaism and Recent Literature,” and was to be followed by a series of novels taken from Jewish history. Of this intended series he actually published, with considerable success, “Spinoza” and “Poet and Merchant.” But real fame and popularity came to him when he began to occupy himself with the life of the general people which forms the subject of his best-known works. In these later books, of which “On the Height” is perhaps the most characteristic and certainly the most famous, he revealed an unrivalled insight into the soul of the Southern German country folk, and especially of the peasants of the Black Forest and the Bavarian Alps. His descriptions are remarkable for their fresh realism, graceful style and humour. In addition to these qualities, his last books are marked by great subtlety of psychological analysis. “On the Height” was first published at Stuttgart in 1861, and has been translated into several languages. Auerbach died at Cannes on February 8, 1882, when all Germany was preparing to celebrate his 70th birthday.
I.—A Peasant Nurse in a Royal Palace
Walpurga was as in a dream. It had all happened so quickly! Only a fortnight ago, on the walk home from Sunday Mass at the village church, her Hansei had to make a hay bed for her on a stone-heap by the roadside. She had thought she could not get back to the cottage in time, but she recovered after a while and bravely walked home. Her mother was with her in the hour of suffering, as she had been with her through all the joys and sorrows of her simple life. Then came the supreme joy of the awakening,